Stile Maus (25 page)

‘Nightmares,’ Klaus
murmured, his words hushed and afraid.

‘Ah,’ Felix smiled kindly. ‘
well the thing is with nightmares is they’re not real, you know that don’t you?’

Klaus offered a tired nod and nestled into his grandfather’s lap, taking in a deep sigh before closing his eyes.

‘I dream,’ Felix hushed, ‘sometimes I think that’s the only right thing to do.’

Stuttgart seemed as though it was under some sort of spell.  Amidst the vast showers of misty snow, the citizens wandered blindly, their faces bland and their smiles veiled behind a mysterious yet frightful stare of permanent desolation.  Felix joined Max at the front of the workshop and began to grapple at the shutters until they shuddered across each, frost stained window.  Business was slow.  The shop was empty but for the Indian Chief and the dismantled chassis of an Iver Johnson Otto Hess had brought in a few weeks ago.  Vehicles were a luxury that few could afford, a depression loomed.  Not that that affected Otto, his attempt at hiding the wad of marks tucked inside the silky seams of his inside jacket pocket had been poor and he had chuckled ferociously at Max’s ‘tip’ jibe.  Otto came from wealth.  His family were distantly related to loyalty and the curbs outside their homes were scattered with ivy green Bentley Tourer’s and a collection of polished Adler’s.  The Iver was his cousin’s, a fairly likeable boy, who had skidded off the road whilst soaring through the snow and ended up tangled within a curtain of thorny twigs.  The bike was in a bad way but not beyond repair.  Felix would take his time with it.                

‘Sure I can’t tempt you?’ said Max as they came up to the tavern. 

‘No I’d better get back,’ Felix waved, ‘see you in the morning.’

The house was quiet and dim.  Klaus greeted him with a hug and then scampered back into the living room where he continued to play with his toy airplane.  A shallow fire flickered beneath the stone mantle of the fireplace.

‘Lena?’ Felix called up the stairs.  His foot met the first step.

‘Lenny?’

Felix leant into the living room.  There was a noise, not quite a whistle but a high pitched sizzle, coming from the kitchen.  He slipped past Klaus and through the doorway where he was greeted by the sight of a rise of steam that had clambered across the window above the stove.  The kettle shuddered and shook above a tickle of aggravated flames.  Felix snapped it away by its handle and set it’s smouldering bottom over one of the cooler hobs before blowing out the ring of fire and heading back towards the wordless stairwell. 

‘
Opa,’ Klaus gurgled.

‘One moment,’ Felix said calmly, ‘just one moment my dear.’

He took to the stairs with speed at first and then slowed towards the landing.  An anxious murmur filled his stomach.  A chill of warm light groaned across the hallway.  His fingers met the handle.

‘Felix.’

Her words were short and tired and she lay within a tangle of lavender sheets, a band of frail fingers reaching out towards Felix’s peering stare.  He rushed to her side and offered a glass of warm water to her quivering lips.  She withdrew after two or three short sips and felt gently at Felix’s shoulder. 

‘Get H-Hugo,’ she spluttered, ‘please.’

A curtain of beaded sweat had gathered below her hairline and her skin glowed with an abnormal warmth.  Felix placed a hand on her cheek and kissed at her nose before racing back into the hallway and then down the stairs until he reached the telephone.  The receiver felt heavy upon his palm and he stabbed at the trawl of circling numbers until a drone filled his ears.  The call dropped.

‘Hello, operator.’

‘Yes, Doctor Brandt, please.  Please hurry.’

THE SOLDIER WITH TWO LIVES

There was a roaring blaze, not ten feet away.  Flares took to the skies.  Sparks of brilliant red tumbled down onto the hellish battlefield below.  He shunned with a sudden turn as a wave of ash fell into the digs and drowned the inhabitants below.  The ladder quivered under his paused heels. 

‘You’re sure about this,
              Kalb?’

He didn’t look back but nodded, placing his foot up onto the next rung. 

‘I’m sure.’

The two men beside him swung their rifles into their shaking chests, rattling the band of ammo that hung at their shoulders.  They were beyond fear.  They stood at the gates of a frozen hell.

‘Ready!’ a voice yelled.  The ladders rumbled as their occupants proceeded further towards the breach.  Bullets licked through the air overhead.  He pried his gaze away from the jagged edges of iced up bank and glared into the night sky.  Smog hovered above, vanquishing any splendour that the starry canvas may have once offered.  With a sharp twist he undid the button that sealed his breast pocket and pulled out a tiny silver necklace.  Kissing at the cold cluster of beads, the soldier shut his eyes and whispered a few words before tucking them back into his pocket.  A whistle pierced the air.  His hands gripped at the posts lining the trench and he pulled himself over the embankment.  The other two followed, staying close behind.  Felix squinted into the smog.  Mud clung to his boots, dragging him down, forcing him closer and closer towards the steaming pits of swallowing gloop.  There it was.  The first mark, a fallen tank, it’s tread ripped and tangled within a jumble of curling barbed wire and sludge.  They took shelter behind it’s battered frame.  The air was hot and burned with an impossible humidity. 

‘Third...’  An explosion rocked the ground and a barrage of metallic noise clanged against one side of the tank causing the front end to tilt slightly and edge into the newly formed pit. 

‘Third blockade,’ Felix repeated with a muffled gasp.  His comrades nodded and set their neck scarf’s over the bridge of their noses.  They broke away again, greeted by a storm of whistling gunfire.  Embers could be seen in the distance, gurgling behind a film of rising smoke.  Felix found the sight to be quite enticing, similar to a smouldering mirage in the distant, unreachable realms of a vast stretch of desert.  The thought slipped away and Felix found himself nearing the second mark.  A shower of fallout sieved overhead.  With a hand planted firmly upon the crown of his helmet, Felix turned to the others and urged them to crouch beneath the burning wreckage of lost artillery.  According to the brother’s description the third mark wasn’t far, a stacked stretch of wood, wrapped within a vine of barbed wire. 

‘How will I know where to look?’

‘Third barricade, I-it’s a long bank of fallen wood, stuck in the mud.  Look for the flag.’

Nothing was for certain.  The wasteland shifted and devoured anything that was unfortunate enough to get stuck within its grasp.  Felix set his rifle over a platform of bent out steel and aimed blindly into the mist.  There was a serrated structure, towering through the smog like a rise of flittering grey, lingering in the blurred distance.  That was it.  The third mark.  A mutter of voices could be heard, a foreign whisper.  Felix took up the rifle and scuttled past the hunch of his companion’s shoulders, peeking past the furthest corner.  With a clenched fist he rapped upon the steel plate covering his chest, instantly attracting the attention of the others.  He gestured that one take the opposite corner and the other ascend upon the clutter of melted steel.  They waited, staring along the long snout of the rifles.  When the first shadow emerged, Felix yanked quickly at the trigger and the silhouette vanished into the swamps below.  Four more followed, each downed by the stalling formation.  Felix knocked against his chest once more and scrambled off into the darkness.  His rifle began to feel heavy.  A screech soared through the air, a high pitched whistle that hurtled to a sinking thud just ten feet away.  He lost his footing and fell to one knee, quickly straightening up and sheltering his face away from a surge of splintering wood and scrap steel.  The rise was close and he ducked down, desperately trying to overlook the zap of flickering bullets.  Felix squinted, frowning against the mist as he neared.  A pale face sat beneath the bank, a frail hand raised above his tilted head.  A flag sat by his shoulders, the body of red fabric burning with an unmoveable stillness.  Felix arrived at his boot and checked the darkness up ahead before resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

‘Take my hand, son.’

Tears raced down the boy’s cheeks, a catch caught his throat.  He reached out and grabbed at Felix’s gloved palm.  The soldiers at Felix’s side kept their aim straight, deep into the murkiness ahead.  As the boy stumbled to his feet a cluster of gunfire broke through the smog, catching a private to Felix’s left.  Letting go of the boy’s hand Felix raised his rifle and prodded his helmet away from his brow, before sending three blind shots into the fray.  A tussle could be heard and three more outlines breached the haze, their cries stifled and their hidden faces filled with pain and hate.  Felix raised his rife until the cold metal met his cheek and he fired twice before ducking down and jabbing a new batch of ammo into the shallow duct.  The fallen private was motionless, spread across the muddy ground.  The other stood at the edge of the blockade and sent a spittle of quick fire towards the approaching enemy.  As each shadow fell, another emerged.  Felix rose and shot into the gloom.  Fire licked the skies.  An explosion of sound surrounded them.  He grabbed at the boy and yanked him to his feet, firing another blast at the settling mist.  The remaining soldier began to backtrack when a bullet clipped his leg, causing him to hit the mud, palms first.  His firearm was swallowed in a matter of seconds and he kicked his heels into the sludge, desperately trying to escape the advance of hurtling foes.  Felix glanced behind and caught his comrade’s frightful stare.  He came to a halt and told the boy to crouch into the ground, handing him his rifle as he began his journey back into the bustle.  The soldier clutched at his leg as he shifted against the slush, his eyes wide with an indescribable fear.  Unsheathing the Luger on his waist, Felix unloaded upon the grouping shadows.  The soldier seethed through gritted teeth.  His words were lost within a gurgle of searing pain.  A shrill whistle surged through the skies and before he knew it, Felix was lying with his back in the mud, a simmer of ash and dirt splashed against his face.  A smouldering cloud of amber stoked flames rose upwards, swelling around a yellowish moon.  The wounded soldier had been turned onto his stomach and no longer moved, his arched back motionless.  Swarms of heavy, mud clogged footsteps scattered towards the third barrier.  Felix stepped towards his fallen countrymen.  A crackle of gunfire cut into the ground before him and he fell back.  He looked back at the cowering boy, his face now hidden behind the cover of his bloody fingers.  Voices emerged, outlines of angered souls bearing guns.  Felix fired another rattle of shots and the Luger croaked as its chamber emptied.  He turned and headed for the boy.  In a hasty rush he wrapped the young boy’s arm around his shoulder and began to hobble quickly towards the trenches.  The boy muttered something under his breath, something quiet, too quiet to hear.  He simpered as his eyes drifted onto the ground below.

‘Don’t look down,’ Felix bellowed, ‘for Christ’s sake
don’t look down.’   

He didn’t remember drifting off.  Nor did he recall entering the reel of dreams that followed.  Felix tore away the stretch of bed sheets that covered his sweat drenched legs and padded groggily down the stairs and into the kitchen.  Klaus sat at the dinner table, munching stubbornly at a triangle of buttered toast.  His golden hair was neatly combed and a scatter of crumbs sat amongst the twines of his shirt collar.

‘Did you leave any for your Grandpa?’

Klaus shook his head with a cheeky smile. 

‘No?  What about milk?’

With a rushed grasp Klaus reached for his glass of milk and gulped down the last few drops, finding it hard not to smirk while doing so. 

‘I see,’ Felix grinned, ‘I’d better go to the market when a certain someone is at school then, yes?’

After a toothy smile Klaus hopped down from his chair and scuttled into the living room where he acquired his shoes. 

‘Just let me make some coffee and I’ll be in to help you with your laces!’ Felix called out.  He unscrewed the coffee jar and scooped a heaped stack into a mug.  In a matter of moments Klaus returned, a satchel strapped to his shoulder and his laces tied in a perfect knot. 

‘Well,’ he said, astounded, ‘I’d better get ready.’

Stuttgart had changed.  There was a laziness to the town and its inhabitants, a slowness that seemed almost impossible to evade.  The streets were lined with the snowy memories of winter and the dark clouds spoke of more rain.      

‘Good morning,’ Felix said as he passed old Mrs Wolf.  Klaus skipped along the curb up ahead.

‘Oh, Felix,’ said a soft voice from across the road.  He turned to see Sophia and Elsie, Hugo’s wife and daughter.

‘Morning,’ he said with a smile, ‘on the way to school?’

‘Yes,’ Sophia said, ‘come on we’ll walk with you.’         

As Klaus and Elsie chased each other up the road, Sophia and Felix kept behind.  He could sense her concern.

‘So how are things?’ she said, trying to inflict as much subtlety as possible. 

‘I’m
fine, I know you and Hugo worry.’